


dust shalt thou eat

by The_Wavesinger



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angels vs. Demons, F/F, Light Dom/sub, Religious Imagery, Rival Sex, Shameless Stealing From Good Omens, Wing Kink, aggressive flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-02 08:47:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20273185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Wavesinger/pseuds/The_Wavesinger
Summary: Angels aren't supposed to just waltz in and change The Cycle. It's really motherfucking inconvenient.





	dust shalt thou eat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shadaras](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadaras/gifts).

> Title is from Genesis 3:14.
> 
> So, um, Shadaras, your prompt "Draw from Good Omens for ideas if you want, tbh" made me go 'oooh' and. Uh. This is the result?

_Malak._

A thousand years, two thousand years, and Samael would still know that Heavenly aura anywhere. She’s talking to—

Dammit.

This is supposed to be a cycle. A _circle_. But there Malak is, talking to Samael’s target. And that won’t do. That won’t do at all.

All Samael can do is wait, now. She won’t make a bigger mess of things. But as soon as Malak’s done—

Well, they’re going to have _words_.

—

“This was my job,” Samael hisses. She’s dragged Malak into the bathroom (fancy marble-tiled with…potted plants? Samael appreciated whoever thought up that monstrosity), and Malak’s allowed her to, surprisingly..

Malak smiles at her smugly.

Hells be damned, Samael wants to punch that smug smile right off her face. Maybe sacrifice it to one of the old gods or something.

“I had my _orders_,” she snaps instead, “And so did you. You know this isn’t your time and—” She pinches the bridge of her nose. She can already hear the stupid old Him from Downstairs yelling. It’s going to be a long night. “In fact, I’m sure you had your orders too.”

“Just doing some good deeds.” Malak has the gall to wink—wink, as if everything will be fine and dandy—“Preventing the next cycle of humanity’s utter complete ruin and all.”

“If your Up Above hadn’t decided to—”

“Well, _you’re_ the one to talk.” Angels are Good, but not very polite most of the time. The way Malak stares Samael down brings that point home. Painfully. Her glare is effective and terrifying and it _hurts_. (Well, okay, maybe all of the mess people have made is Samael’s fault, but. She was just doing her job. And also, you’ll never get her to admit this aloud, but out of darkness light etcetera.)

“Anyway, it’s time for a change, don’t you think?”

The implication is that…oh no. Him won’t be happy at all if Malak is saying what Samael thinks she’s saying. “Who decided to change The Cycle? It’s been happening well enough for _millenia_ now.”

“Um.” Malak looks shifty. Kind of like the kids who Samael whispers to about grabbing sweets to stuff themselves with when their parents aren’t looking. Except her eyes are dark and defiant (oh mortal forms are so weird) and maybe—

Fuck. Motherfucking Mary. This is maybe worse. “Malak. Lily Kadmon is the start of The Cycle.”

“I know,” Malak says. Then, “But before The Cycle, there was something, even if Them won’t tell us what it was. And there were humans, too.” She stands there and says those words, and she still has that fucking angelic smell and that faint golden halo Samael can see if she squints.

Fuck.

Something inside Samael tightens. To stand here and say that and still not fall, still not lose her Grace—

He Who Must Not Be Nameddamned but does Samael find Malak incredibly terribly hot right now.

Malak, of course, knows. Malak always knows. “Sam_ael_.”

The way she stresses the last syllables is both fond and threatening. Samael shivers. “I’m going to be doing damage control on this for all of eternity. Fuck, we might not _exist_ for all of eternity anymore. Do you really think sex is on my mind right now?”

Malak levels an unimpressed glare at Samael, and okay. Fine. Maybe their first hookup had terrible timing, after that whole mess with Adam and Eve and the blank slate coming unwiped. And maybe the second one, after the whole mess with the poisoned mushrooms in Kushinagar. And—“Shut up,” Samael snaps.

But. Malak is really fucking hot right now, and also Samael is going to be yelled at the moment she reports back. And she’ll possibly never see Malak again. “Do you want to fuck, maybe?” They’re in the bathroom already. And it’s a nice bathroom too, not like many other places Samael and Malak may or may not have fucked in. It’s a waste to let that pass right now.

Malak heaves a put-upon sigh Samael knows is mostly for show. “Fine.”

Then she’s on Samael, kissing her.

Malak is a good kisser, and Samael knows she herself is pretty damn amazing. So it’s no wonder that when their lips meet, sparks fly. _Literal_ sparks; Samael can feel the heat of them on her skin. Her wings are unfurling, and damn. This is the fastest Samael has been turned on since. Well. Since Malak, last time.

Samael tries to deep the kiss, but Malak draws away, frowning. “No. Be patient, Samael.”

“The end of the world as we know it is imminent,” Samael snarls. “Hurry the fuck up, won’t you.” Also, she’s really very horny, but that’s not going to work on Malak. It never does.

“So impatient,” Malak hums, and then she’s got a fistful of Samael’s hair in her hand and her fingers around both of Samael’s wrists, pinning them at the small of her back.

Samael fights her. Of course she does. It’s better this way, thrashing wildly against Malak’s grip, every movement sending a jolt of pain through her entire body. Her wings unfurl wider and wider, every tiny gust of air and twist of Samael’s body sending pinpricks of pure fire along her nerves.

She kicks and tugs and punches, but Malak is stronger. No matter what bodies they’re wearing, Malak is always stronger. Samael fucking loves it, to be honest, that moment when Malak has her pinned against the wall and is towering over her, eyes dark, raging angelic authority.

Then Malak yanks on Samael’s hair.

Hard.

“Ouch,” Samael yelps. “That hurt.” It was a nice hurt, but Malak doesn’t need to know that, obviously. That kind of information’s on a strict need-to-know basis.

“That was the point,” Malak informs her. She clicks her tongue, and suddenly there are restraints on Samael’s wrists; they’re anchored to the wall behind Samael’s back. When she tugs at them they won’t budge, and the only option to get out is to ditch her bodily form.

It’s nice. Samael will never admit this, but she loves the feeling of the cuffs cradling her body. In a stupid kind of way it makes her feel safe.

Not so safe, of course, is the way Malak’s running a thoughtful finger across her wings.

Every touch of that blessed form _burns_. Samael’s feathers are on fire, heat coursing through the veins of this stupid human body. Her wings burn up at Malak’s touch. She wants—needs—relief. Right now, this moment. “Please,” she begs. “_Please_.”

Malak shakes her head, and her disapproving expression is so _human_. “So impatient. Calm down, Samael.”

And her voice is kind. Patronizing, maybe, but kind and soothing, and even as Malak’s touch sends sparks of fire across every inch of her body, an aching-hot agony, Samael leans into her hands. They’re warm, hot, almost burning. And Samael knows it’s Malak’s angelic aura reacting to her, that Malak can’t actually control the heat, but. She shudders. It’s a nice feeling.

Malak is maddeningly imperturbable. She strokes Samael’s wings, evenly, without missing a single beat until the bursts of pleasure have her crying out, moaning and whimpering. Her feathers are all sensitized, raised away from fine bone and the barbules spread out in some places, shrinking in others, lightning and the fires of hell running through them. She’s squirming away and towards Malak’s touch at the same time. The movement pulls at the restraints on her wrists, a delicious tug that only arouses her more.

“I can’t,” she gasps. “Malak. Please. It’s—it’s too much.”

Malak smiles at her. The smile is wicked and sharp and if Samael didn’t know her better she’d call it _demonic_. And the suddenly the hand touching her is cold.

Ice-cold, a different kind of burning. For a moment Samael thinks she’s being doused with holy water, her very essence freezing and crumbling. But no, that’s not it. That’s not it at all.

“I didn’t know you could do that,” Samael snaps. Or, well, tries to snap. It comes out more as a bitten-off whine, and she knows she sounds desperate, sounds like she’s begging, and she doesn’t care. She revels in it. Revels in what Malak is doing to her. She’s proud of how good Malak is at this whole seduction thing (almost as good as Samael). And—

And her thoughts shatter into an incoherent mess as Malak leans forward and bites down on the juncture between her neck and her collarbone and tugs on her hair.

Hard.

The burning in her neck is of an entirely different kind. This time it _is_ holy water. Or close enough to it, anyway. It’s pure divinity, light itself and the touch of Above, a sweet poison creeping into her body, spreading out from the centre of the bite to every muscle and bone and nerve, cradling her in its stinging embrace, thorns of goodness _digging_ into her flesh. The ordinariness of the tug at her hair just serves to anchor her, a grounding that only makes the pain stronger.

Samael cries out. She stays perfectly still, because she can feel her skin throbbing, swollen and tender. She knows there’s going to be a mark. The pure agony is fading, leaving a trembling, delicate pain behind. But she can’t even begin to miss the hurt. Malak is going to attack that same place again (so predictable, because Malak is hers, in this one way, and she knows her like she knows her own soul).

Malak’s voice is kind, oh so kind and gentle and soft, when she says, “We’re just getting started.”

Then she sinks her teeth into Samael’s neck again and at the same time yanks on a handful of Samael’s feathers.

The pain is all-encompassing and leaves no room for any other thoughts.It’s the best feeling in the world.


End file.
